


Foss in therapy, part 6

by belmanoir



Series: Foss in therapy [6]
Category: Kyle XY
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 21:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belmanoir/pseuds/belmanoir





	Foss in therapy, part 6

"How was your week?"

"Fine." There's always this pause before Tom remembers to be polite. He wishes he could do it automatically. "...How was yours?" 

Nicole smiles at him as if she doesn't notice the pause and thinks his interest is genuine. "It was good. Although if I hear the chords for that new song Lori's writing one more time--" She laughs. 

His mouth twitches and he breathes out through his nose--the closest he's got to a laugh these days.

"So did you think about where you want to be in a few years?"

Right. His homework. He tried, but--not very hard. He figures he'll be wherever Kyle and Jessi are. "I didn't have time. Sorry."

To his surprise, she grins. "Mm-hm," she says, sounding unconvinced. "Now how did I see that coming?"

He shrugs, surprised at how strong the impulse is to smile back at her. These sessions are--he doesn't know what they are. He's glad when they're over, but he looks forward to them with an intensity he tries not to think about. _Most people, even if they avoid it, do want to be seen for who they are,_ she said. And she was right. For one hour a week, someone pays attention to him, and he loves it. He's pathetic.

"Was there a time in your life when you were able to be emotionally open with people?" she asks.

He shrugs again.

"I'd like to talk about your wife and daughter," she says gently.

A second ago he'd felt almost safe. "No." He grips the arm of his chair. He hates that, over the hot swell of memories, now he feels those stupid white Madacorp restraints on his wrists. This pain should be for his family. 

She smiles again. "Thank you for saying that instead of leaving. Couldn't we talk about them even a little? Not about the accident. But could you tell me how you met your wife? If you'd rather not, we can move on."

He tries to decide. Who knows what she'll move on to? This seems relatively harmless. "She was a journalist. She was interviewing me about my work in the service. Most of it was classified, but she mostly wanted a human interest story anyway."

Nicole blinks. "And you talked to her?"

He nose-laughs again. "I was still drinking in those days." 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth he wants them back. Her eyes widen in understanding. "Ohhh. And that made it easier to talk to her?"

He shrugs. Towards the end of his time in the service he could barely talk at all without a drink. He was never _drunk._ He was just...less afraid. The next morning, of course, he'd play every word back, try to figure out what exactly he'd let slip and whether it could be used against him. Then he started drinking in the mornings, too.

"Did that pattern continue into your marriage?"

"You could say that."

"How did you feel about that?"

He'd been angry when she wanted him to stop. He hadn't thought he had a problem. She'd never minded before, and then she got pregnant and it was like he couldn't do anything right anymore. But he hadn't done anything right, had he? "I should have just stayed away from her."

She tilts her head. "That isn't what I asked."

He stares back at her, mulishly.

She frowns. "Are these sessions making it harder for you to stay sober? Have you ever thought about drinking before you come here?"

The taste of whiskey comes so sharply and suddenly into focus that he knows he must have been thinking about it all this time without realizing. He'd be able to talk to her then. He wouldn't feel this way. It would be easy. He doesn't answer.

"Are you sure you won't consider going to AA sessions or looking for a sponsor?"

He nods.

She sighs. "If you ever--you know that you can call me at any time of the day or night. To talk, or not. Let me give you my cellphone number, so you can call without worrying about one of the kids picking up."

He already knows her cellphone number. "You don't have to do that."

"No, I don't. I want to." She scribbles the number down on a corner of her legal pad, rips it off and hands it to him.

"You only keep this on when you're out of the house," he points out.

"I'll start leaving it on all the time," she says firmly. 

This is stupid. It's like Kyle and his three stars. He shoves the piece of paper into his jacket pocket and doesn't thank her.

"Can you tell me about a time in your life when you expressed a strong emotional reaction while sober?"

He wants to talk about something else. The problem is, he doesn't know what. So he tries to dig up something fairly neutral. "I cried at my father's funeral." He'd been sober for that, hadn't he? He's not sure anymore. There had been a lot of liquor at the wake, but the funeral had been the next day, and--

"How did your mother react?"

His mouth tilts. "She held my hand and gave me a pair of sunglasses."

"How did that make you feel?"

He shrugs. "I thought it was dumb. Sunglasses don't cover crying. They just hide your eyes when you're done."

She laughs. "Were you close to your father?"

"Not really."

"How did you feel about him?"

"He was my father."

She smiles again.

"Is something funny?"

"I'm sorry," she says. "It's just that your answers are--it's not that they're predictable, but once you've said them, they're--they seem somehow inevitable."

Tom hunches his shoulders. "That's how I felt about him. He was my father."

"I know. I'm sorry. Can you tell me more about him?"

"No."

She nods. "All right." She leans forward. "You _can_ talk about yourself sober. It's going to take work, but we'll get there."

He doesn't have anything to say to that.

"To start us off, here's an exercise. Every week, you're going to tell me two feelings that you had that week. One thing that made you happy, and one thing that make you feel sad or angry. They can be as small or as big as you want. If you just want to tell me that you had a good sandwich for lunch or that someone cut you off in traffic, that's fine."

"I'm not a child, you know."

Her mouth goes crooked. "I know that. Was I being patronizing?"

She's just trying to do her job. He wonders if this is how Baylin felt when Tom told him to be careful: trapped. Talked down to. If that small resentment was part of why he didn't tell Tom about the security breach. He tries to think of something to tell Nicole. This morning when he drove down I-5, the air was clear and he could see the mountain in the distance, crisp and beautiful. He can't say that. "I was glad Kyle won that scholarship."

She beams. He doesn't know if it's for the scholarship, or because he's playing her stupid game. "Me too," she says. Okay. Now he has to come up with something that made him sad or angry. Anything.

Even he sees the humor in that, and yet his mind is completely blank. He looks up at Nicole. She's waiting patiently, face serene, and he doesn't think she's going to let him off the hook on this one. "I drove past Madacorp yesterday," he says finally. "Emily Hollander still works there." He saw her car in the lot. 

Nicole waits for a minute before asking, "Did that make you sad, or angry?"

"Angry. She let them mess with Jessi's head."

"And yours."

He shrugs. He was fair game. Jessi's just a kid. _Hollander's a loose end,_ he thinks, but he can't say that to Nicole. Especially since someday he might have to do something about it. He hopes not. Hollander's got a daughter, a cute kid.

Nicole doesn't push it. "Thank you," she says. "Your time is up, if you'd like to go."

He stands immediately. She stands too and shakes his hand. He remembers again how they stood palm to palm last week. "See you next week."

She nods. "Remember, I'll be keeping my phone on if you need to call me between now and then." He looks away. "Oh, and next week we're going to talk about your future." He can hear her smile in her voice.


End file.
